


A (Really) Cold Case

by julsweav



Category: Original Work
Genre: Historical Figures, Historical References, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julsweav/pseuds/julsweav
Summary: Vampire Leander Cross and mortal Edmund Wallace set out in search of a centuries old question - just who killed the Princes in the Tower





	1. Not Noir Yet

_Leander Cross_

Owning a bar in the seedier side of London had never been Leander Cross’ goal in life. But since his return to the country of his birth, he’d found his niche there. Technically _dead_ was just a wee legal problem he was going to have to deal eventually.

Maybe. Like any other centuries old vampires of old blood, Leander did have assets squirreled away for when they were needed. He was just enjoying the slumming aspect of his current situation.

It was also giving him an excellent opportunity to work with his however many greats-nephew in his detective business. Kid was a bit raw, but eager and willing to learn the stealth techniques Le had honed the past five plus hundred years.

The fact that Leander had given Edmund space in the corner of his bar to set up shop (until he could obtain his own place), a job tending bar when he wasn’t out on the detective beat - and a room above the bar to lay his head in rest, didn’t mean he didn’t worry over the kid.

There were actual monsters out there, after all. All the tragic vampire stories that made them walk in the sun and sparkle? All the stories of things that go bump in the night? Leander bet it was an imp playing their little tricks. If normal humans realized what wandered among them, well, Le didn’t doubt there’d be a huge case of mass hysteria.

Not unlike the one that caused the witch hunts in the Middle Ages, and tore at the fabric of Colonial America in Salem, Massachusetts. Magical creatures of all sorts had dove into the safety of the shadows to escape the madness, and agreed amongst themselves to guard against future murders.

It had worked well for centuries, and the few true stories had been brushed off as delusions. Or, as the magical society deemed fit, _silenced._

Not part of the job Leander enjoyed when he’d been a part of the council. Why he was now tending a bar as a sort of vacation. A few hundred years of policing could get tedious if you didn’t take away from it.

Leander rubbed at the whiskey glass and looked over at Edmund thoughtfully. Knowing what was outside those doors made him worry for the kid. Fresh out of P.I. licensing classes, Ed was eager to solve his first, big case. He could well understand that, for he could remember the first time he’d stepped out on the field of Bosworth to fight for King and country.

The rush had been heady, his blood had pumped in his veins so loudly he swore he could hear it. Leander had stood proudly beside his father and brother, knowing that they could, would and most definitely should be branded as traitors to the realm if Henry Tudor had lost his bid for the crown that day.

Instead, Richard the Usurper had been defeated, and Leander had been disappointed in the way the Tudor faction had handled themselves. Out went his dreams of chivalry, of fair play - of anything he’d been taught by his Lord Father growing up. Disgusted, Leander had refused to look away as each blade entered the now dying King.

For that, Leander was not upset that Richard was dying. He’d joined the Tudor side with his family, staunch Yorkists, because of the disappearance of murder of the true king - Edward V and his younger brother, Richard. He’d been of a like age to the royal princes, and had been outraged when the news of their disappearance had been broadcast. Anger had spread through the nobility and common folk alike.

Leander tucked the glass into the row of identical ones on a shelf. His eyes strayed to the tattered newspaper tacked up behind the bar. Out of sight to customers, but always in his sight.

 _ **The Bones of King Richard III found beneath the asphalt of a parking lot**_ the headline screamed out at him. A reminder of his own past, and one that now brought up questions that only centuries could bring to the forefront.

Had Richard really killed the princes as they’d all thought back then? Or had it been Buckingham? Or had - in Leander’s true horror - had it been King Henry VII, the Tudor savior that his family had championed?

Was it finally time to lay that mystery to end? His eyes glanced over at the bowed head of nephew and his face schooled itself into a smile.

“Hey, Ed,” Le called out across the room as he began to unlock the bar doors for the evening's flow of traffic. “Are you interested in a case?” he asked almost casually, though a hint of excitement flowed through his tone. This could be a good way to kill two birds with a single stone. He could watch out while Edmund learned his new craft on the job, and he could get the answers that have burned inside him for hundreds of years.

“Is it paying?” Edmund Wallace looked up at his uncle curiously. Without money to pay for an office _and_ advertising, not much (really, not any) business had come his way yet. Unless you counted Mrs Beardsley’s cat that went missing weekly. 

“Of course,” Leander replied and nodded at his first customer of the day. “We’ll talk more before dawn,” he added and the night’s business began.


	2. Reaching Noir-vana

_Edmund Wallace_

There wasn’t much to be said for having a vampire for an uncle. He was a good fount for history when needed. Back when he’d been in school. He and the rest of the kids had aced their social studies, at least.

His decision to become a PI hadn’t settled too well with his mum. _”If you want to do police work, why don’t you join the force like Lysander?”_ she’d asked him repeatedly. Lys had just given him a look, shrugged his shoulders and told his mum it was all up to him. Even if he didn’t like it, Lysander had supported him and had helped him get his credentials.

Now though, with the bills piling up and he hadn’t even opened shop, Ed was beginning to think that his mother, Esme was right. At least for the starting out. He didn’t like doubting himself, but, he was glad he had Le on his side.

Ed also suspected that the _very_ Elder Cross was also tagged as his babysitter. _Thanks, mum!_ he thought sarcastically. Though, in retrospect, he was grateful also. Who wouldn’t want a vampire protector?

Edmund tallied the last of his earnings on the almost blank ledger. Mrs Beardsley paid well, and he’d tried to refuse, but she insisted he’d take the money. Even when he explained that Wellington the brown Mackerel tabby was usually hiding underneath a bed, or atop the refrigerator. Not hard cases to crack at all. Plus, Welly liked to hang out in the park with him around the corner, and he’d fallen in love with the little guy.

The bar would be open soon, and Edmund was grateful for the side job Leander had offered him along with the free room upstairs to hang his Sherlock Holmes approved Deerstalker Hat (who was he kidding, it was just a Manchester United baseball cap) and his not so authentic tweed jacket. Tweed was kind of scratchy to him, so it was leather instead. His graduation present from his parents. The cap had been from his younger siblings, and he wore it proudly, even if his step sister, Makendra was a pain in his buttocks most times. His step brother, Aiden, had given him an impressive pocket notebook to write his case notes in.

Not to be outdone, the youngest of the crew, the twins that had melded the family together, had given him a box of stubby pencils that they’d laboriously sharpened down to his favorite length to fit comfortably in his shirt pocket.

At five years old, Kayleigh and Levander were into _everything_. That included his prized vinyl record collection he’d inherited from his dad. Lysander had thrown some sort of protection spell on them after they’d scratched up the Led Zeppelin. He’d watched in rapt attention when Lys had used another type of spell that had cool blue lights spark out the tips of his fingers.

Edmund wouldn’t give up his family for the world, even if at the beginning he wasn’t at all sure how happy he was to have himself and his mum absorbed into the growing Cross family. Lysander was the Head of the Family, but Leander was ever in the background offering sage advice and protection.

Edmund could admit that at first Leander Cross had creeped him out when he’d first met him. The whole family had been weird at first sight, having magical powers and all. He’d only thought of witches, wizards, vampires and werewolves being myths. Not real. Just stories authors used to tantalize their readers. Who hadn’t gone to the cinema to see _Twilight_ , _Teen Wolf_ and the _Harry Potter Series_ on the big screen? He had, with a huge bucket of popcorn slathered in melted butter and a 40oz cup of soda. Good times, until his mind had been blown by the discovery.

Edmund had felt slightly betrayed when he’d found out his mother had known long before he’d been told. Lysander had been assigned to his father’s murder case and had spent a lot of his time with the family throughout the investigation. Edmund had developed his desire for investigation during that time. He found his penchant for investigative work during this time, and had vowed to find his father’s killer if the CID hadn’t. It had taken a few years, but they had. 

During that time, Lysander and Esme had fallen for each other. Hard. But Lysander hadn’t given up on his quest for the killer, and had gone to the magical world when the human world had failed them all. That’s when Leander had shown up with partner Anna and an old friend of the family, a werewolf named Chaz. The bloke had only looked weak from the ravages of his disease, but he was a deal breaker when needed.

Edmund was intrigued by Leander’s offer of a case. Each time there was a break in the orders coming in from the customers, he was tempted to ask for a hint. But, like they knew he was curious, a new batch came through the door and he was busy again with fetching drinks, baskets of fish and chips, or burgers and beans from the kitchen and he couldn’t get a personal word in edgewise.

Ed fell onto a barstool in exhaustion once Leander locked the doors after that last customer. He exhaled a slow breath and took a long draw on the water bottle he’d pulled out earlier and hadn’t had a chance to drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank down the now lukewarm water.

“So, Uncle, what is this case? And, more importantly, how much is my time worth to you?” Edmund asked curiously and wiped at sweat on his face with the hem of his work apron. For Le he’d have done it for free.


	3. Noir-toriety of the Suspects

Leander finished locking the shutters that covered the windows to the bar before the light of dawn began to show. It was deadly to him, and when he’d bought the building, he’d had extensive renovations done to it. Downstairs, there was a windowless area he used as home base when he didn’t go back to the manor that he shared with Anna and their combined children. His son and daughter were adopted because he’d lost his ability to create children of his own blood a _long_ time ago. None of the kids lived at home much anymore, adulthood, jobs, relationships of their own and other responsibilities kept on the move.

Holidays though were joyous occasions when the whole of the extended Cross and Sophia families got together. Edmund was a part of that melting pot, and he fit in like he’d been born to it once all the kinks in relationships had been hashed out.

Leander turned with the last click of the last lock and made sure the door was bolted. He moved over to where Edmund sat at the bar and with a push both hands, he clambered up on to the bar to sit.

“Enough to get that office space next door you’ve been eyeing, furniture that we don’t have at one of the houses, and the hugest _locking_ file cabinet for all the cases that are going to come through your door soon,” Leander replied with a nod of his head. He hadn’t been prying, he’d assured himself, but he’d seen all the plans Ed had been making for ages on the back table one day. He’d been amazed at just how organized the kid was being. Fruggle also, once he’d added up the costs Ed had estimated.

“Really?” Ed raised a brow doubtfully. At the rate things were going, he was going to be stuck working from the bar’s back table until another decade turned.

Or the four horsemen of the Apocalypse rode down the streets and got wiped out by all the magical beings living in London. He’d have the biggest bowl of popcorn set out to watch the show.

“Yes, really,” Leander affirmed. “I’ve already tapped Charles for the renovations for when we’re ready. He needs the work,” he commented and turned to slip to the other side of the bar. He bent down and popped open the efficiency fridge below the counter and pulled a fresh bottle of cold water and an opaque bottle for himself. His ‘midnight’ snack after a busy night.

“Here, lukewarm is crap.” Le offered Edmund the water and then opened his own bottle, and placed it in the microwave to heat up. A perfect 98.5 degrees was optimal.

“Thanks. So, the case details?” Edmund said after drinking half the bottle down.

“Remember when you all were kids and you came to me for information on the War of the Roses?” Leander asked, and Ed nodded his head. “Well, they’ve recently found some bones underneath a parking lot,” he pulled out the newspaper and offered it to Ed. He reached for his own bottle once it was done and took a fortifying drink from it. He usually had a couple bottles through the night to satisfy his hunger, but business had been busier than usual for a slow beginning-of-the-week night. It wasn’t like old times, when he could get a fresh bite to eat at will, the mortals were more suspecting of unexplained deaths. Instead of fearing the unknown boogeyman, they went out in search of them.

That sort of thing rang a death knell for magical kind. They’d already routed out and killed most of the brownies that lived in the forest and gardens. Harmless creatures, they’d been blown up or poisoned in their burrows.

“King Richard, the one you said killed your childhood friends?” Edmund asked after he’d read through the article. “Thought that it had been pretty much cut and dried that he’d done it?”

“Yes,” Leander nodded his head and rinsed out his bottle in the utility sink to be cleaned and refilled later. He kept his ‘dinners’ in amber bottles for the sensibilities of his family. Especially Esme and Edmund, who weren’t magical and hadn’t been raised to be matter of fact about it.

“Back then we didn’t have access to all the papers and testimonies that we do now through the museums. Even your internet has theories that no one had even thought of,” he added and used his hands to brace himself on the bar. 

“Like who?” Ed looked back down at the picture from the paper. It showed the bones of man huddled together, with a significant fragment of bone missing from the skull. He was amazed that the bones had even lasted that well preserved for as long as they’d been in the ground. Not even a wooden coffin had been afforded the former king.

“Buckingham, for one,” Le said with a shrug. He remembered the man well. Higher up in rank than his father at court, he’d strutted around like a peacock. He’d been in line somewhere for the throne, and he couldn’t help reminding everyone of that fact. “Duke, a distant heir to the throne depending on how you looked at the line, player between King Richard and Queen Elizabeth, the princes’ mother,” he ticked off each reason with the fingers of his upraised hand as he said them. “Just an all around deceptive prick.”

“I take it you didn’t like him?”

“He was just another in a long line of overly ambitious men in a dangerous time. Just the wrong word could get your head lopped off,” Le reminded Edmund seriously. He’d been too young to have seen it first hand, but King Edward, Richard’s brother, had ordered the death of their own brother for a few words (and deeds) by drowning him in a vat of wine.

“After my time, of course, but look at Henry’s son Henry VII,” Le continued, and Edmund nodded. “He beheaded friend and wife alike,” he muttered out and placed the paper back on the bar.  
“What of the others?” Edmund asked, knowing time was growing short. He could see how the coming dawn affected Leander by how much paler his skin got, and the darkening of the circles beneath his eyes. His dark hair was ruffled where his hand had reached up to push it off his face, and strands had come untucked from the sinew tie he used to hold it back.

“Henry and Henry’s mother, together or separately, have been named in various places,” Le replied, “Then there was John and Thomas Howard -”

“Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard’s uncle?” Ed exclaimed. The two Tudor queens of Henry VIII had lost their heads and he remembered a Thomas Howard being involved.

“Nay, he was their grandfather and John’s son. The Howards gained a lot in support of Richard’s claim to the throne,” Le confirmed, and was impressed that Ed had retained some of the history that he’d helped the younger generation with while he’d caught up on the years shortly after his mortal death.

Leander hadn’t liked the disquieted feeling he’d felt as he delved into the time he’d missed. The time his father and brother had to live and struggle through under Tudors. They’d both kept their heads and kept out of the politics of the day as best they could. His brother Ian had had to watch friends like Sir Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher lose their heads at the whim of a despotic king.

Knowledge might be power, but all the facts he’d read had left him ill. Ill over the support for a family such as the Tudors had become, and the fact that his possibly could have been wrong and deceived into following the _true_ murderers of the princes, or at least their accomplices.

“It’s time we tucked it in,” Ed announced suddenly after taking another long look at his uncle. “You look dead on your feet,” he commented and was rewarded with a slight chuckle from Leander.

“I’ll clean this up and make sure we set for tonight after a good nap,” Edmund assured Le when it looked like he was going to protest. “I’ll even contact Chaz to come in tonight so we can start our detective work, if you’d like?”

“Aye, that’ll be good,” Le agreed before slipping out to where his rooms were. He was unconscious before his body hit the bed.


	4. Noir Business

Edmund yawned and flipped down the chairs off the tables to their proper spots. He’d put them up and mopped up the floors before going up to his apartment to bed that morning because he’d needed time to think over everything Leander had told him about his ‘new’ case. Unless there was some hidden documents, Ed wasn’t sure he could solve this case with any surety.

But they had something other contemporary researchers didn’t have - Leander had some knowledge of the people that had written up the various documents stored in the museums. Maybe he could read between the figurative lines?

Edmund had written down the names that they’d discussed the night before in his notebook before he’d popped open his laptop to do some research on the people behind the names. First up was Henry Stafford, aka the Duke of Buckingham.

Edmund was just worried that Stafford’s home seat was going to be Buckingham Palace - a place that there was no way Ed was going to be able to get Leander into during a night visit. He’d already contacted his parents to see if they could finagle an after dusk trip through the Tower. Lysander had some contacts with the Beefeaters, for he’d gone to school with some of them before they’d all gone their separate ways. While the Tower was still classified as one of the monarch’s residences, the queen did not use it as such.

But it did store the majority of the royal jewels, which is why it was so heavily guarded with live in Yeoman Warders. They may look ridiculous in their Medieval uniforms, but they were highly trained military men.

So Edmund hoped (for Leander’s sake) that Buckingham Palace was _not_ in the list of places to visit. He doubted Leander would be able to survive a day time trial for trespassing. “His seat was in Wales,” Edmund mumbled out, oddly pleased. He was of Welsh descent himself through his birth father, but they’d never been able to spend much time there because of his dad’s job.

The amazing thing that popped out at Edmund was that Stafford, like Richard III, was an uncle to the princes. On his mother’s side, his wife was the sister to the Queen, their mother. But a good reason to tick off was the fact that he bitterly hated the Queen for forcing him to marry the sister. Seems it wasn’t all happy and light in the Stafford household. Was that the reason he initially tied his strings onto Richard III coattails in the beginning?

Edmund jotted down that question for Le and then set about researching the next name on his list - King Henry, Leander’s hero from his youth. The restorer of balance in the force that was Tudor England by combining the White Rose and the Red Rose as one. Making York plus Lancaster equal Tudor and the dynasty that was to go on forever.

_Not_. Though their distant ancestor in Queen Elizabeth II did come to rule.

Henry VII could be a likely candidate, Edmund surmised after looking at the history. He did want to be an uncontested King, which he did partially by marrying the oldest sister to the two princes? He’d also put to death a cousin who’d tried to overthrow him while a captive in the tower. Then there were pretenders claiming to be the youngest brother, Richard. Perkin Warbeck, beheaded in the Tower Green.

Edmund raised a hand and rubbed it uncomfortable against his neck. “Blood thirsty lot,” he mumbled out before standing up to get a drink. He gulped down the cola, refilled it and grabbed a bowl of peanuts to munch while he researched further.

Edmund remembered his sister Makendra had been gaga over a book series about the Tudors and had gone on and on about how Edward IV’s wife and oldest daughter had been witches in the book, and had cursed the line of the princes’ killer or killers to die out. Considering how the Tudors themselves had died out within two generations, could they have possibly cursed their own family through Henry VII or his mother? Had one of them colluded with Stafford?

All questions he’d put forth to Leander later, when the vampire woke up for the evening. That would be a convenient ending to their information hunt. But Edmund wasn’t buying that a piece of fiction could have the glaring answer.

Edmund knew however that he would never want to leave in that era like Leander had. How anyone escaped with their heads attached, or even not torn asunder and spread about the four corners of the budding British Empire amazed him.

That the reign of King Henry VIII’s was even behead-ier was something he remembered from school. VIII's murderous tendencies were legendary.

Once Le woke up, Edmund would discuss with him places Le would want him to go to get pictures of the documents that weren’t shown online. He’d ticked all the pages he’d looked into so far into the favorite’s bar.

Edmund had to admit that he was getting interested in who had killed the two youngsters. He was just hoping that it wasn’t Henry VII - he didn’t think Le would be all that happy over it.

The sound of door unlocking and opening startled Edmund, and he turned to look to see Chaz walking in with a plastic cooler and a bowl of something in his hands. “Hey, Ed, Kelly sent over the bottles you called for this morning,” Charles Ives held up the cooler and knocked the door shut with his hip. 

Kelly was Leander’s Anna’s daughter and doctor at the local hospital with Anna’s brother, Craig. Having a doctor in the family was very convenient when you had a hungry vampire to feed and always didn’t have time to go out for a proper dining experience.

Between family donations to the cause and some she got from the hospital, Leander was set. Once Ed had gotten over the squeamish factor that Leander was drinking _their_ blood, he’d added himself to the list of donors. 

“Your sister sent over a bowl of your mother’s stew from last night because she knows you don’t eat properly,” he added and plunked the bowl down from Makendra on the table beside Ed’s laptop.

“Hi to you too,” Ed replied dryly, and motioned to the bowl of peanuts. “I’ve got some good stuff right here.”

“Not as good as your mom’s stew,” Chaz reminded the younger man before heading around the bar to put the amber bottles of blood away in the fridge below it. “She mentioned you were going off on a case, is Leander going to need me to watch the bar for you guys?”

“If it’s convenient,” Ed motioned to the calendar with moon cycles on it. He hadn’t checked it yet, but he was hoping the full moon wasn’t coming up.

“I’m good for a week or so,” Chaz replied and stood up from behind the bar. “The construction business has been slow this month, so I could do with the extra pay coming in.” He shrugged his shoulders. It was what it was. Even though he ran his own home repair business, the week laying in because of the change didn’t help his reputation at all.

“Good,” Edmund replied and pushed himself away from the laptop to pop the top off the bowl of stew his mum, Esme, had sent over. It smelled heavenly, even if it was cold. “Let me pop this in the microwave, and we’ll haggle out what Le wants you to do while we’re gone.”


	5. Like Noir Business

Le awoke with a groan and he rolled over on his bed to look at the clock on the table. He usually awoke before dusk to get ready for his day. He liked to join his workers in preparations, but he’d stayed up past the crack of dawn, and it had drained him.

He could hear the faint sounds of the already open bar buzzing with activity above him. 

Le rolled onto his back and groaned again. He didn’t want to get up. His sleep had been filled with images of his past, and they’d intertwined with the present day talk of the hunt. He’d been no seer as a human, so he was sure that he hadn’t dreamed up the actual murders of the two princes.

But his nightmare had fed into his deep desire that it not be Henry VII or one of his agents. 

He rubbed a chilled hand over his stone cold face. At least the time on his clock had shown he wasn’t that late. He just needed to hurry his ablutions and get up there. Not that, as owner _and_ manager, he couldn’t take time off when he needed. He liked to be hands on, and he was normally punctual to a fault. It had been ingrained in him during his squire training, so long ago.

Leander was surprised that Edmund hadn’t tried to wake him by banging on the door. There was so much they needed to discuss before they left in the next few days. He didn’t even know if Charles Ives had agreed to look after the bar while he and Ed were gone. He’d glanced at the moon cycle on the calendar before drifting down the stairs, and knew that wasn’t a problem.

But the werewolf did run his own renovation and building business. That was important to Ives.

Leander bent before the mirror and scooped up some water from the sink to wet his face and hair. No shower for now, not that he sweated and stank like the mortals that surrounded him. But being undead did not prevent one from gathering the dirt that swirled around.

Plus, Leander hated the bed head he always woke up with. His hair had always been just past his shoulders when he’d been mortal. He’d always used a sinew tie to hold it back, and it had never been that much of a problem. A few times he’d even used the fair Gillian’s favors to tie them back as a show of his devotion and love for her.

His brother, Ian, had always gotten - how did the mortals of today put it? - a kick out of it? Yes, and Leander chuckled at the memory. Bittersweet as it was, he fought his dark nature to hold onto the humanity of his humanness. His brother had been the one to make him learn how to fight with a sword more proficiently, when he’d preferred the bow.

Leander had to take Ian’s advice once he’d gotten the message through his thick skull. Range is all good and well, until the ranged get called into the middle of the fray. He’d been scared witless then, only the rote drilled into him by Ian had kept him alive. Each clang of sword on sword had twinged his shoulders, but in the end, he’d survived. Breathless, he’d looked at carnage surrounding the victors. He’d felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder, and his sword had lowered with laboring breaths to fill his lungs. “Don’t puke now, brother,” Ian had whispered to him. How had he known?

Leander felt the water run down his neck, and he looked into the empty mirror. Habit and his Anna had kept it there. He grabbed up the towel, rubbed himself dry, drew a comb through his dark locks and tied them back. Grabbed a clean shirt from the wardrobe, some pants from his dresser.

Dressing quickly, Leander took one last glance around his room, and his eyes alighted on the gleaming metal of his father’s suit of armor. It had, miraculous as it was, had survived the ages in the manor that now housed the Cross family in the old family seat. A reminder of what he’d lost when he’d left home, and a tie to the humanity he still craved. He knew that desire was folly, just as his tilting at a windmill as it were of his trip that had culminated in his turning.

Perhaps, tonight in a preparation for his upcoming quest with the lad, Edmund he’d hunt in the forest for more _fresher_ sustenance. Bottled blood was good enough usually, but sometimes dining from the source (albeit an animal one) was much more satisfying.

Leander entered the bustling bar and immediately saw that Charles had stayed for the evening and was working his normal spot at the bar. “Thank you,” Le directed at the werewolf. He bent to reach into the refrigerator beneath the bar for a couple of amber bottles, and saw with appreciation the extra bottles it contained.

“An ever heartier thank you,” Le commented after grabbing up two of the bottles to head to his office to consume. He had paperwork also that he could work on while he dined.

“I was here already with Ed, and knew he could use the help,” Chaz said and grabbed up a shot glass to fill for a customer. “You eat though,” he cautioned the vampire, sensing by his heightened senses that Leander was nearing his need to feed by any means, and that was not something all too cool in a bar full of mortals.

“So Ed filled you in on the plan?” Le asked Chaz while his dinner warmed up in the microwave. 

“Yeah, I’ve gone ahead and asked Vic to work also,” Chaz replied and Leander nodded in agreement. Vic was a musician friend of Chaz’s that worked for him in his own business while he worked on getting his band famous as the next Beatles. He looked forward to being able to say that he knew them when.

“I feel by the time we’re done on our quest here I’ll need to hire a few helpers to replace Ed, cause he’ll be busy with his own shop by then,” he said and popped open the microwave and gathered up his dinner. “You’ll be in a good place also, fixing up that office next door,” Le added before entering his office.

The night promised to be long, but Leander was ready to finally know the truth, _if it was out there, of course._


	6. Getting Noir With It

It had been ages since Leander had stepped onto the grounds of the Tower of London. Much had changed, but much had stayed the same. No longer were prisoners brought in by Traitor’s Gate off the Thames. The royal family no longer took up residence. It was, in effect, a tourist trap now. People came to tour the grounds after paying a few quid, see where two queens among others got their heads lopped off. That was, thankfully, past his time.

The thought of anointed queens getting their heads chopped off, no matter what reason, no matter if they were guilty or not, gave him an uneasy feeling. It wasn’t like when Richard died on the battlefield.

Leander was honestly glad he hadn’t been around to see the future he and his family and others in the nobility had helped create by getting Henry VII on the throne. He’d read up on the _antics_ that the Tudor family had gotten into while on the throne. So many deaths, not something truly unusual except for the amazing amounts, in the years Henry VII and his descendants sat on the throne.

But, that day as they’d stood on the battlefield, Sir Leander Cross, knighted that day for valor, had never thought he would ever be able to look into the past.

Leander followed silently behind Edmund. He was the one with connections for once, and he’d be the one to greet the guard that was giving them access to the Tower. Specifically the place where the boys had spent their last months together, and then the purported sight of where their bones had been found. He’d studied all he could on the internet, and had felt the tears he could no longer shed as he gazed at a painting of Edward and Richard.

Leander could remember the day he’d met them fondly. His father had gone to the castle to meet with the King and he’d been sent off to the gardens. At ten years old, he was about to go off to a fostership for a few years before he made his way in the world as a second son.

A ball had rolled towards him, with sounds of childish laughter following behind it. Edward was eight years old and more assured of himself than his five year old brother, Richard. “Who are you?” Edward had asked, “Roll the ball!” Richard had called out.

With a toss of a ball, friendships had been made. Each time Le had come to court with either his father or his foster, he’d been commandeered to play with the two young princes. He’d sadly gone off to France at the age of fifteen to gain more confidence at court and learn its ways.

Leander never saw the young princes again. The good King Edward IV died, and the new King Edward V had been forcibly gathered up by his paternal uncle, Richard, Duke Gloucester.

The rest was, well, _history_.

Le had met the Duke a few times, but he’d done his best ‘be seen, but not heard’ and ‘melt into the background’ and had never talked to him. He had seen him play with the princes in the gardens, and still couldn’t fathom the Duke from the King. He had never thought that Richard would kidnap his nephews, either. 

“Hello!” a voice greeted them. A man in regular clothing stepped out and smiled genially at them. “Welcome to the Tower,” he said with a little bobble of his head. 

“Bertie?” Edmund uttered and moved to give the man a handshake. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” He turned to look at Leander, “Bertie is the older brother of my old school chum, Evan,” he explained. What luck to have someone they knew helping them.

“My pleasure, Bertie,” Leander replied and looked up at the bricks of the extremely tall tower before them. They had a limited amount of time for their explorations, and he was ready to get this evening over. “I think I met Evan a few times?” He looked at Edmund for confirmation, and received a nod in return.

“Lysander has assured me that you’ll be careful with any of the artifacts stored in the Tower and that you have no need to access the Royal Jewels so I don’t need to follow you around,” Bertie said while unlocking the door and gesturing them all inside. “It’s a little unorthodox, but I’ll know where to look if anything goes awry,” he added with a hint of a chuckle.

“Thank you!” Edmund replied and looked towards Le and nudged him with his elbow for a response. LEander had been taking in the interior of the hall they’d just entered. Memories of the past and walking with his father and brother down this hall had him, well, _almost_ speechless.

“That’s very accommodating, and I appreciate it,” Leander replied after dragging his eyes away from the portrait of King Edward IV that held his gaze. It was faded and crackled in places in the paint, but it was still very striking.

“Glad to do a service to my former mate. Lysander and I go way back in school. He went one way - Cid - while I went for the military.” Bertie smiled in reminiscing with his words and then looked up at the portrait that had dragged Le’s eyes back on it.

“Good likeness, eh? Last King with his Queen to occupy this place as a residence. Too bad what happened to the family as a whole,” Bertie said with a slight shake of his head in sadness.

Leander gave Bertie a grave half smile, wanting to tell the bloke just how well the painting represented his own King, but refrained. He wasn’t sure how much Bertie knew about the magical world (maybe a little because he didn’t bat an eye at them coming at night, and Leander’s obviously paler than pale skin. Or the coldness of his hand when he’d shaken it), but he wasn’t about to go there when they had limited time to get through the areas in the Tower that they needed to.

“An excellent likeness, I suspect,” Leander replied, “Though I’m sure the painters made sure to give their subjects as flattering a portrait as they could.”

“Probably, I think Henry VIII wanted to behead the last painter of his portrait,” Bertie answered, “It was too close to likeness for his tastes.”

“Right oh!” Bertie said with a rub of his hands together, “I’ll be around should you need me. Can’t quite leave you totally unsupervised, now can I?”

“Thank you,” Ed and Le said in unison, and headed down the hall to where there was a staircase that went up and up into the upper floors of the Tower. The personal apartments for the royal family. It also contained the rooms where the Princes had spent their last days and where other royal prisoners had languished before being put to death by various means or released.

Not many were ever released, unless it was the final release of death.

The continued on past the public areas of the former palace. Up to where Leander had never accessed before, the private areas that the royal family stayed while this particular palace had been in use. Or where later ones would spend the night before their coronations.

Then, Leander paused them at a spot in the stairway. “This is where the bones were found of two young boys,” he said somberly. “They’ve long since repaired the stairs, but this is where Thomas More’s story on Richard says that the bones would have been originally placed before they’d been moved to a ‘safer’ last resting place,” Le said and bent down to look at the spot. Not that Thomas More could have been an eye witness, he’d only been five years old himself at the time. But he could have heard many things from those in the actual know. How much of More’s words were fantasy rather than fact?

“His story also said it was Richard’s agents that took out the boys,” he added and stood up. “But the bones haven’t been tested by your century’s DNA standards,” he said regretfully. The bones found in that spot, and other bones found in a room nearby now lay in safe repose in Westminster Abbey.

Unlike Richard’s bones, they weren’t going to be tested, Westminster refused to allow them to be exhumed. Not that definite identification of the bones would even reveal their murderers, but it would give closer on what happened to them.

Edmund followed Leander into a room he recognized by all his research he’d done that afternoon while Leander slept. There was correspondence that he’d poked around in at the Library that he’d photographed to bring back for Leander to look at once they were done at the Tower. Their contact, Bertie as they now knew, had only limited time for them to be able to go poking around.

Ed would like to think that he would have enjoyed their trip to the Tower without it being a case. Leander had always given them a healthy respect for history as he’d given them glowing episodes of his life as they were growing up. Ed had joined the party with the Cross kids late in the game, but they often cajoled the vampire to retell stories that were particularly interesting.

“This is the room?” Edmund asked and looked around and rested his eyes on the ceiling. High as most houses of that time, there were narrow windows that let slivers of light in. Not very bright, electric sconces lit up the room where candle sconces used to hang.

It was all rather fantastic. The large, canopied bed took up a good size of the room. It wasn’t likely the same bed the princes had actually slept in. Maybe the frame, in all its worn patina. Shiny with age, Ed could imagine one of the boys sitting on the bed grasping the one of the wooden poles that drapes would have been tied to when they were open.

Leander walked around the room, towards one of the narrow windows to look out. Below was the courtyard that the young boys would have enjoyed their play time together. Like many boys, they liked to play with their bows and arrows and practice their sword play. 

His emotions felt heavy inside him. There was no actual information in this room. Not even the hollow laughter of two ghostly children. Silence.

Overwhelming silence.

“We should go,” Leander said once he’d turned back to look at Edmund. “I’d like to stop in the chapel,” he added and gestured with one hand towards the doorway. While there were no actual ghosts in the room with them, there were many floating in his head.


	7. Noir For the Memories

Leander sat on the stool at the bar and sipped his warm amber slowly. The Tower had been both a bust and revealing trip. There’d been no evidence, but why would there be after more than five hundred plus years? What had he thought he was going to find? A confession or a name etched into the stone of the walls in the boys bedroom?

Everything had been matter of factual back in his day. He’d been sixteen years old, called back from the French Court (Oh, how he’d thanked God for that! It was like a totally different world there. The intrigue level, the sexual level was on high extreme. He had to admit he’d been tempted a few times, but then the memory of his Gillian would meander back into his vision) to attend to the boy king once his coronation came around.

They’d all waited impatiently for that day. No one had suspected that Richard would pull the stunt he had. Or had it always been an option? He’d challenged his brother king a few times. Didn’t put much of a fuss up when Edward had put their brother George to death.

Richard had also married the Kingmaker’s daughter. A man that had even made his own father nervous. Always looking for a way to put himself forth, most often at others expense. He’d whispered into George’s ear to challenge for the throne, cause his bride was also a Kingmaker’s daughter. Twisted in so many ways.

But the Royal Chapel in the Tower had been calming. Attendance to Mass had pretty much been a compulsory thing back in his childhood, wherever you were. Pilgrimages were taken, and defense of the Holy Land of Jerusalem still happened, although not as often.

In fact, if Henry VII had not knighted him at Bosworth, he’d planned to make his mark in the Holy Land. It had been a much better prospect than ending up as a member of the Church. Becoming a monk would have surely given a death knell to his plans on gaining the fair Gillian’s hand as wife.

But that had never happened in his folly to gain acceptance and approval from the Duke, her father. Instead, he’s become a vampire in the New World, and his husbandly prospects had dwindled to nil by distance and circumstance.

Leander looked around the chapel, Edmund close by his side. “You didn’t combust,” Ed whispered in a chuckle of surprise.

“Old wive’s tale,” Leander commented, and paused to kneel and cross himself. His head had bowed out of tradition, but he side eyed Edmund, and gently slapped his great-nephew on the knee.

“Sorry!” Ed contritely whispered, and took the same position as Leander.

Leander stood and waited for Edmund to also stand, and then proceeded to the altar. There, Leander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Taking in the past and for a brief moment, banishing the present.

Leander had never been in the Chapel Royal before, but it was a reminder of his childhood as a mortal. This was also the place where many of the Tudor victims of beheading had been laid to rest. A surprising occurrence to him, but a reconciliation he suspected.

“Who’s the lady?” Edmund interrupted his inner thoughts with a nudge to his arm. Leander turned to look in the corner of the Chapel, where a ghost of an elderly woman sat. Her eyes downcast as if in prayer, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Milady?” Leander called out in a low voice, not sure if he could or should know her. Her head raised up and gave them a startled look. One that held a mild note of recognition.

“Leander?” the ghost gasped out in surprise, and stood to float towards them. Her transparent eyes looked him over, up and down. Then she giggled, like a young woman he vaguely remembered.

“It is you. You look so young and fresh,” the ghost said and then turned her eyes to a long plaque on the wall. “A lot like my brother Teddy, before he met his death.” Her eyes became sad again, and a ghostly tear seemed to melt down her cheek with a low wail that bespoke of the holy place they were standing in.

“Lady Margaret?” Leander said her name after reading it on the plaque. He had to admit that he didn’t do much into the study of the victims of Henry VIII, for he’d been sickened by those that his father.

Leander had not expected Lady Margaret of Clarence, daughter to the executed George, Duke of Clarence, brother to both King Edward and King Richard. He was gobsmacked, and he took a step back in shock.

Margaret had been a few years older than himself. They’d danced once before Edward IV had died, and he’d been initially besotted as all men were. She was, or had been, out of his league by many fathoms, and his love for Gillian had tempered any courtly feelings he had for any woman. Even those of Royal blood.

“I guard over Teddy,” Margaret explained and floated back to her spot. “Such a cold place for him to reside,” she commented sadly, a light moan coming from her. “They murdered him!”

Leander looked into her angry eyes and sighed. He’d met young Teddy when he was playing with the other princes a few times in the garden. He’d been a few years younger than Richard, and from reports may have been a little simple. That Teddy - Edward of Clarence - had more of an actual claim to the throne before Richard himself (as legitimate son of the middle brother) had been ignored by many. He was far younger than Edward V and his simpler mind had made him a less viable candidate than Henry Tudor.

“He was a good boy,” Leander replied fondly. “But why do you guard him? Isn’t he at rest?”

“I fear they’ll hurt my boy more,” she said with a slight nod of her head. “What if they take him from me, from here?” Her hands rung together with her words.

Edmund watched as Leander knelt before the elderly ghost. Some questions answered with their words, but so many created by the same words. He felt the overwhelming sadness shared by both of them. It felt like a weight on his shoulders, but he stood tall. He felt an importance of the moment and his witnessing of it - even if his understanding was a mystery to him.

Ed was sure Leander would fill him later.

“Milady,” Leander said reverently. His hand hovered over the clasped hands of the ghost, “Why would they take Teddy from you?”

His words had a sobering effect on the ghost, and she looked at him. “They took the others!” she leaned in to whisper as if to fear someone of ill intent could hear them. “For years the princes had wandered this place with me. They’d rejoiced in my arrival as a beloved cousin,” she smiled with her words, “And I watched them at play in the courtyard, with their bows and swords - forever the boys I’d fussed over when they’d been alive.”

Leander felt the shock of her words flow through him. Could she have the answers he craved to put to rest the past?

“Did they see who killed them?” Le asked curiously, and watched as she visibly shrank back and huddled into herself. He felt a twinge of conscience, but tamped it down. If she held the truth, it was time it came out.

“They only said they heard footsteps but their faces were covered by pillows before they could see who came in,” Margaret answered after recomposing herself. Her eyes looked at him with less trust then they’d held before. “What does it matter, anymore?”

“I need to know if my family sided correctly,” Le replied truthfully. This poor ghost deserved some rest, and didn’t seem to think she’d get it with her quest to keep her baby brother’s mortal remains safe.

“No one can really say in either way,” Margaret said and stood up. “Who’s agents they were.”

Leander sighed in sadness or frustration. Not even he could tell the difference at that moment.

“When Uncle Richard died, and cousin Elizabeth married that Tudor and begged him for me to serve her, all discussion of the boys _ended_. No one searched for answers, not even Elizabeth herself.” Her ghostly hand raised, “She never stopped mourning them, but by then she had her own boys to care for. She focused on them,” Margaret explained and shrugged her ghostly shoulders.

That’s when Leander noticed that Margaret’s head just seemed to float above her shoulders, and that several different stroke marks delineated into her neck, shoulders and the base of her scalp. He held back the gasp inside him that the brutality brought up in him.

“No one came forward to clear Uncle Richard’s name, and no one else made whispers about who gave the order,” Margaret said and seemed to disappear right before their eyes.

There’d been no answer there, and Leander took another drink of his vastly unsatisfying bottle. There was still hours before dawn, and he needed the satisfaction of hunting _something_ less tame than an amber bottle.

“That ghost was a friend of yours, I take it?” Edmund asked once he was sure Leander was in a good place within himself to talk. They’d returned in silence to the empty bar, and he’d had the smarts to stay quiet until Leander had fed. He’d gotten himself his own sandwich and pint.

“Not a friend, but a lady caught up in the same intrigues. Her life was more precarious than many,” Leander replied and stood up to place his bottle in the bin that went back to Kelly for refills. “It was a nasty time back then - and you learned when to talk and not to talk. She hasn’t forgotten that, even in death.”

Leander turned to look at Edmund at the bar. “I need to go out for a bit. I’ll be back before dawn,” he assured him.

Edmund could see the hungered look in the vampire’s face, and he took a sip of his ale. “I’ll have more pictures for you to look over. Maybe a place for us to go look into tomorrow night.”

“Thank you,” Leander said and slipped out the door and into the night. The forests held a safer, but much more flowing fare. He needed the sound of a beating heart to quench himself and reconnoiter his thoughts that night.


	8. Noirly There

Edmund shuffled the pictures and scribbled notes he made on the table in the corner of the bar. It was early afternoon, and he’d declared it ‘tea time’ with a takeaway bag of scones with clotted cream and jam and some finely brewed ‘Earl Grey’ from the teashop down the way.

Some things he’d gathered from online, and he felt like he had a million tabs open in his browser. There was really only ten after he did a quick count while licking some errant cream off his fingers with a satisfied smack of appreciation.

Ed hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he’d taken his first bite of his scone and devoured it without applying the sweets to it.

Last night’s activities had added to his pile of notes. An extra tab or two on the browser, and possible a gray hair - hopefully not at his age. But he was sure he’d gained some frown lines, and a furrowing in his brow after reading up on the Lady Margaret they’d met up in the chapel.

Her story, her _life_ … sucked. The Tudors as monarchs had surely _not_ improved her family’s life. And her Teddy - the Earl of Warwick, beheaded just like a lot of Tudor victims. How had the princes’ sister, Elizabeth dealt with all of that?

Protecting her own sons’ succession in the line to the throne, obviously. _Sickening,_ and Edmund fumbled through the papers in an effort to lining them up in some sort of order.

“Hey! Some help here!” A voice called from the now open door to the bar.

“Makendra!” Edmund hissed out and stood to take the rather large board from his sister’s grasp. He heard her sigh of relief, and he shook his head slightly.

“What are you doing?” he asked her and leaned the board up against one of the tables. He relocked the door and quirked a brow at her.

“I talked to Chaz yesterday while you guys were on your _mission_ and asked him if you had a _gumshoe_ -”

“Private Investigator!” Edmund broke in to remind her.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mak said with a hand gesture, “If you had a board to pin up all your info - just like they do on the Telly with your hero, Sherlock - and he told me not yet,” She went over to the corkboard and dragged it over to the corner, where Edmund currently had his ‘office’.

“Here, help me!” Mak said after moving over his piles of pictures and papers to climb onto his work table.

“Don’t think Leander is going to like this,” Edmund grumbled out, but did as his sister asked. 

“He’s in favor of your becoming a _gumshoe_ , remember? He’ll support anything that helps you,” she said and gestured for him to lift up the board and hold it while she hammered nails into the wood and then had him lift the board higher to hang from them.

“That doesn’t mean he wants you to pound holes into his woodwork!” Ed said, and stepped back to look at the large cork board. He had to admit, only to himself of course, that she had a great idea. If only she hadn't messed up his progress that he’d already made. Mak just chuckled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Come on, I’ll pin them as you hand them to me,” Makendra said and pulled a jar full of pins from her dress pocket. “Then when you get your own place, I’m sure Chaz can fix it or he wouldn’t have told me to do it!”

“Right, okay,” Edmund mumbled out and picked up a pile to sort out. It took them a good hour to sort everything out to Makendra’s satisfaction. He had to admit, once done, she’d been right (as usual). He held out his hand to help her down.

“You’ve done a lot of research,” Makendra looked at the board approvingly. “Your organizational skills suck, though.”

“You’re going to need an assistant when you open your office next door,” Leander said confidently from the doorway to the basement. His head nodded towards Mak with a grin.

“She’ll be busy at Uni with her studies,” Edmund scoffed but then looked at his sister.

“And I’ll need a part time job,” Mak added with a twinkle in her eye. Organization was her favorite thing after her drawing and dress designing. “One that won’t cut in too bad with my school hours, plus will give me time to work on my sketches in the down times.”

“In other words, paid to do school work?” Edmund said with a wry smile.

“Yup! Now I have to get to class before I’m late!” Mak said and headed to the door after giving them both a kiss on their cheeks. “You’ll both be at my mid-semester fashion show this weekend?”

“Of course,” Leander replied and turned towards Edmund once she was gone. The bar would be opening soon but they still had some time beforehand to discuss the case. And Leander was sure that Edmund had many questions that hadn’t been answered the night before.

“You’re up early,” Edmund commented and picked up his now lukewarm tea to take a sip. “Bloody hell, she nicked my favorite scones,” he grumbled out, and took a chair at the table to stare at the now very organized case information. It was rather pleasing.

“I figured you had questions,” Leander said and took a seat on the other side of the table. He’d grabbed up an amber bottle and opened it with a satisfying _pop_ sound.

“I went through a few articles on the Tudors this morning,” Ed said and pointed a hand at a section of the board. “Read up on Lady Margaret,” he added with a frown and chewed on a scone reflectively.

“Mak did a great job,” Leander commented, “You’ve done great at collecting information,” he began.

“But nothing up there says who did it, other than maybe by Richard’s command,” Ed replied in frustration.

“Lady Margaret knew who did it,” Leander said with some confidence, “and even in death, won’t reveal it.”

“Why do you say that?” Ed looked at Le over the gold edged rim of his teacup.

“It was the fear I saw in her eyes,” Leander said finally and took a long pull on his bottle. “They took Teddy away from her once, and she fears it’ll happen again. At least in death, she’s got her Teddy.”

Edmund thought over it for a moment. “You think she said something, and that got Teddy killed?”

“I don’t know,” Leander said thoughtfully. “Looking at what you have for her up there -” He looked at the board.

“There’s a biography on her on the ‘net, if you haven’t read that yet,” Edmund offered, and pulled forward the tab with her name on it.

Leander leaned forward and scanned the page with interest. This was the part of his ‘world’ that he’d missed when he’d left to find the Fountain of Youth for Gillian’s father. Futile, he’d ended up a vampire and stuck in the swamps of Florida for centuries.

“So, to keep her under control, they married her off beneath her station,” Leander commented, “Murdered Teddy supposedly for Prince Arthur to marry the Spanish Princess,” he paused and looked at Edmund.

“I found somewhere that the Spanish monarchs wouldn’t send Infanta Katherine to England unless they were assured that she’d be queen with Arthur’s ascension to the throne unable to be contested.”

Leander sighed and drained the amber bottle in his hand. _Could most of the beheadings have happened to keep what happened to the Princes quiet?_

“If knowing the truth ends her afterlife suffering, would she want the truth known?” Edmund asked curiously.

“Not if it means leaving her Teddy,” Leander replied and stood up. He walked towards the bar and retrieved another amber bottle. He popped it into the microwave.

“But wouldn’t it be better to be with Teddy - wherever he ended up in the afterlife?” Edmund asked.

“But what if her worry is that when it’s done, she doesn’t end up where he is?” Leander reached into the microwave after the ding and walked back to the table with his warmed drink.

That was the conundrum. No one was as innocent as they seemed in that age. Or any age. Edmund sighed and cleaned up his tea time mess. Dumping the paper cup and plate into the garbage can, he popped open the fridge and retrieved a soda bottle.

“I’m confident that her soul was innocent as Teddy’s,” Edmund replied. He’d spent the afternoon reading, taking notes and feeling some of the feelings Leander had expressed when they’d started this case. Helping Leander make sense of all of this was now his own mission.

Edmund began to look over the board with what he hoped was a fresh eye after Makendra’s help fixing the board up. He could tell it wasn’t new, but most likely one of the boards she had up all over the walls in the basement of the manor. That was where she’d taken over one day, and declared it hers.

Mum and Lysander had nixed the totality of that plan, leaving the rest of them with half of the basement for their use. Their side was filled with a billiard table, a card table, fishing rods and tackle and a dart board - among others.

The twins had gotten into Mak’s clothing dummies and supplies once, and they’d never wandered there again after they’d had to clean their mess and replace her supplies out of their piggy banks.

Edmund’s mind drifted back to the articles about the Princes he’d read and printed out because they were the subject of the investigation. Their bones, if they were the bones of the Princes, had been buried in Westminster Abbey.

“Have you thought of going to Westminster?” Edmund asked Leander. If his vampire uncle didn’t want to go, he was going to go in the morning. He’d never been to Westminster himself, but it sounded like an interesting place to visit.

“That’s where they placed the princes, isn’t it?” Leander said and stood beside Ed to look at the board also. “Richard’s in Leicester,” he said thoughtfully. A huge difference between the two, but now that Edmund had mentioned it, he felt a need to see both places for himself.

“I think we should,” Leander confirmed, “Leicester tomorrow.”

“It’s your pence,” Edmund replied and finished cleaning up his table with a swipe of bar towel over the table. “As soon as dusk hits, we can leave.”

“Works for me,” Leander said grimly. Waiting for night to fall was going to be nerve racking this night. Not that he expected much to happen, but he could at least show his respect.


	9. Noir in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the lovely Professor McGonagall of HPFT

Edmund could hardly hold back his amazement at the beauty of the Abbey. The church back home in Sussex was on a much smaller scale than this, but it was no less solemn or important. The wood of the pews were bright but worn from centuries of church goings. The fact that royalty as well as regular people sat in the pews was something that was awe inspiring to him. It just reinforced the fact that everyone was the same beneath their veneers.

“Close your jaw a bit, Ed,” Leander whispered next to him.

“Umm, yeah,” Ed replied and reached his hand over to dip his fingers into the font by the door. He made the sign of the cross after touching the water to his forehead. He waited for Leander to do the same.

“Now - that stuff burns,” Leander replied. “Not everything is an old wives’ tale,” he added with a slight shrug of his shoulders and began the walk down the aisle. Edmund wiped the holy water from his hand against the rough fabric of his jeans.

It had been literal ages since Leander had been in the Abbey. Some obscure baptism that had required his father (as the Earl of Amberley) and his family’s presence. Even then, the Abbey had had a certain air to it, and it hadn’t faded in the five centuries since.

Leander bent the knee at the first pew before the altar, and Edmund followed suit. They’d arrived too late for the service, but the minister had let them in when Leander had mentioned he _needed_ to light a few candles. The minister had looked at them both, and gave an even longer look at Leander before agreeing.

“I’ll be in the office here, when you’re ready so I can lock up,” the minister said and nodded to them both.

Now they were at the dias where the candles were, and they both knelt upon the prie-dieu provided before them. Ed had thought originally that Leander had just used that as an excuse, until the vampire pulled out a folded pile of bills and carefully pushed them into the money box.

Leander took one of the long matches and lit four candles solemnly, saying names as each burst into flame. _Edward and Richard_ and _Henry_ and _My family_ hadn’t surprised him. _Richard,_ had though. 

Leander’s head stayed bowed as he silently prayed. Edmund bent his head also, and thought about all he’d learned so far about the case. He felt sorrow and anger over the little princes, and knew Leander was going to have a hard time forgiving himself if his family had supported the murderer.

But the question was still unanswered. _Would it ever be?_ If the Lady Margaret had known and refused to mention it for fear of her or Teddy’s life, did that point to the living Henry VII over the dead in battle Richard III?

Quiet contemplation, and Edmund sighed. His thoughts turned to his family, and he began to pray. Something he hadn’t done in a long time, since his father’s murder. It was like a flood gate had opened, and all the unsaid prayers he’d held in flowed out. Tears welled up beneath his closed eyelids and blinded him.

His father had been his _hero_. His death had shaken him to the core. All of his beliefs had become like a bitterness in his heart. For a brief moment shortly after Edmund had hated his father for leaving them like he had. For taking their family from Scotland to England for his _job_ that had put him in the crosshairs of an assassin. He’d even felt hatred towards Lysander - not for falling in love with his mum and getting married, but for replacing his dad in the family.

But Lysander hadn’t. He’d just become the bonus dad he hadn’t known he needed. His children had become the siblings he’d always wanted but his parents hadn’t been able to have together.

Edmund ended his prayer with asking for forgiveness for all the hateful things he’d felt so long ago - and felt a peace wash over him. He felt a pressure on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see a slight shimmer fading.

“He knows,” Leander said softly, and his hand replaced the pressure on his shoulder with a light squeeze.

“Yeah,” Edmund said and followed Leander’s lead and stood up. He was a Cross, if not by blood or name, but by acceptance and love. He’d thought he’d accepted that long ago, but he’d needed that light pressure of his father’s approval to fully grasp it.

All around the church were plaques on the floor where people were buried, and behind ornate fencing were tombs with effigies sitting on top of them. To know that Leander had known a few of those inside them was just a bit weird to Edmund. But life since becoming a Cross had been full of strange things from the start.

“Do you miss them?” Edmund asked finally.

“The Princes? Of course, and my family. Even with Ian living at the castle as a ghost doesn’t replace them,” Leander replied. “My parents were the best, and I just wish I had listened to them instead of harrying across an ocean to meet my destiny.”

“Not the destiny you expect either,” Edmund said and they finally stopped in front of a large gate protecting a tomb with two golden effigies on top.

“But if I hadn’t met that destiny, I wouldn’t be with you and the others now,” Leander reminded him. “That is Edward IV and his Queen Elizabeth. They placed the caskets with the skeletons of the two children found in the Tower here as well.”

“There were also two other caskets with children in there,” Edmund reminded Leander with something he’d read. “Assumed to be their two children that died young, George and Mary.”

“But there were also tombs found for them, and those caskets moved here also,” Leander said. All the information he’d read had been overwhelming. He remembered how the country had mourned along with the Royal Family for them. “So, either way, I feel that boys are here no matter what. In that I can feel some reassurance.”

Edmund waited while Leander gazed at the tomb. He couldn’t imagine what Le could get from just looking at it, but it was something called closure that was needed for the immortal being beside him.

Tonight had Edmund figuring out how Leander was feeling, even centuries later, with how his father’s murder had affected him. If Lysander and the rest of the team hadn’t found his killer, would he be in the same quandary as his undead uncle?

“He was a good king,” Leander said finally, “Made mistakes like everyone else, if he’d only made sure his contract with Lady Eleanor had been irrevocably broken before marrying Elizabeth Woodville.” Leander sighed and they turned to walk out of the church.

“I don’t think Edward had a clue that his brother would betray him,” Edmund said.

“George and Richard had betrayed him before, George even died because of it,” Leander reminded him. It was sad to him that a family could be like that. Ambition and greed had ruined many family connections.

“Makes me rethink wine,” Edmund said soberly at the memory. It reminded him also that Leander’s time wasn’t all that idyllic, and that many lost their heads at the whim of a king.

They waved goodbye to the minister that had waited for them and headed out the oaken doors. The gardens that surrounded the church left a heady scent with their blooms.

“Where to now?” Edmund asked Leander when they paused at the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s early enough we could head to Leicester,” Leander thought out. His hand raised to run over the top of his head to the base of his neck. He looked frustrated.

“We could -” Edmund’s words were drowned out by the sounds of childish laughter from the garden beside the Abbey.

“What?” Leander looked towards Edmund before going around the side of the church. Could there be lost children?

They arrived around the corner of the Abbey and went towards the sound of laughter.

“Ah, come on, Ed!” one voice called out and gave Edmund a start. But he doubted the child was talking to him.

“Dickon! The ball went that way!” the other voice called out, the one called Ed. Or so they assumed.

“Ed and Dickon? Do you think?” Edmund asked with a look at Le when they saw shimmers moving in the garden. Le didn’t get the chance to answer when the shimmers made it to them and stopped in their tracks.

“Leander!” the oldest ghost said happily and walked to stand before the vampire. “You grew up! Just like Meggie and Teddy did!”

“That happens, milord,” Le said with a wide and sweeping bow to the ghost. He knelt down on the ground to make himself closer to height to the boys.

“Who’s your friend?” Dickon asked curiously.

“That’s my nephew, Edmund,” Leander replied and looked between the two ghosts. This was something he’d expected at the Tower, to tell the truth. “Lady Margaret was at the chapel, but Teddy wasn’t.”

“Teddy went away when Meggie came,” Dickon said sadly, and flipped the shimmery ball between his two hands impatiently.

“Greetings, Lord Edmund,” the young ghost king said. His eyes widened. “You're alive! How can you see us? Most can’t. That was so disappointing when Lizzy wouldn’t _see_ us when she came to the Tower for her coronation.” His face frowned with his disappointment. “She was so beautiful! She did pray for us though. My sister cried, and then she left and never came back.” His shoulders straightened and he looked back to Leander.

“I had you called back from France, because I wanted you to be part of my court. Along with Dickon,” he said with a childish giggle that broke the imperious look he’d tried to perfect. “But then -”

“Then the bad men came and covered us up in a stinky blanket and we -”

“-Died. _I_ was telling the story, Dickon!” Ed said with a soundless stamp of his foot on the grass. A reminder that he, while being a King, was also a child still.

“You were taking too long!” Dickon replied and grabbed the ball and kicked it back towards a tall and branch tree. “I’m telling Uncle you’re not playing with me!” He stamped his own foot, turned and ran off after the ball.

Leander looked at Edmund, and they both mouthed the word _Richard._

“He’s such a tattler,” Ed said and rolled his ghostly eyes backwards. Then he let out a ghostly sigh and his voice went quiet. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“No it’s not -” Leander began to say.

“I’m the one who asked Uncle Richard for Dickon to be brought to me,” he said sadly, “I was lonely, and Dickon was going to be my second and we needed to know each other better. I loved Wales, and begged Father and Mother to send him to me, but he was made to stay in York. It would have better if he had,” he finished with slumped shoulders.

Edmund’s heart went out to the young ghost. He couldn’t imagine not having one of his siblings around him once he’d joined the family. They could sure be a handful at times, but he loved them.

Just like Ed loved Dickon.

“We best go see Uncle,” Edward said and turned slowly to make his way to the tree. His shoulders straightened and his steps became stronger with each one. “Come,” he commanded over his shoulder.

Leander stood and gave a quick glance towards Edmund before making a hand gesture.

“Yes, milord,” Leander called out and they followed the ghost king.

“Do you think?” Edmund whispered out.

“It could be Rivers or Grey?” Leander responded.

“It was Anthony that had accompanied him, and Grey was his half brother,” Edmund reminded him. Both men had been riding back with the boy king from Ludlow, and Richard III had had them beheaded so that Queen Elizabeth’s Woodville family would have less of an influence on the uncrowned king.

The sounds of the young ghosts were muted as Leander gazed upon the ghostly figure sitting on a bench beneath the tree. The ghost stood up, and if Leander’s skin could have gone any paler it would have.

“Your majesty,” Leander said with another but lesser sweeping bow. It was a habit, ingrained into his very being from childhood.

“Once maybe,” Richard III said dryly, “You look… exceptionally _pale,_ Lord Cross, not at all like you did when last I saw you on the field,” he continued and quirked a ghostly brow. Standing, Leander and Edmund could see the slight slump of his left shoulder, and how the right raised uncomfortably.

“I am a vampire,” Leander replied and shrugged his shoulder. It had taken him years to become comfortable with what he’d become in the swamps of New Florida. With no way to return to England, he’d joined in with other vampires and raged war on settlements and Indian villages in their hunger. 

They had travelled by night up and down the coast of the New World, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he could never tell the story of Roanoke. It was a tale best left to the mysteries of the past.

Richard nodded his head and looked over at the young ghosts. They seemed to argue for a moment, before turning to walk over to the others.

“We’re tired, Uncle Richard,” the youngest, Richard’s namesake said with a ghostly yawn.

“You may go,” Richard said. Edmund and Le watched in surprise as the ghosts gave small bows before the king before running off back towards the church and floating through the walls.

“I thought you’d be in Leicester,” Le commented, “But you’re here.” His hands gestured widely.

“I'm where my unfinished business resides,” Richard replied.

“The boys?” Leander asked and Richard nodded.

“I didn’t kill them, but -” Richard paused and walked towards the bench and sat down. His head fell into his hands, and his injury to his head could be seen. Edmund blanched slightly at the sight.

“Then who did?” Leander asked harshly. Richard’s head jerked up and looked back at the vampire.

“The Duke of Buckingham. I had told him to take care of the boys,” Richard moaned with his words, “He took it to mean _kill_ them.Not what I meant at _all_ ,” he moaned again, and his body seemed to fade and then float over the bench in his anguish.

“Stafford played games between myself and Tudor, claiming to be loyal to us both. I didn’t see it until he came proudly to me stating that he’d done the _deed_ like I had wanted!” Richard’s voice raised into a wail, and his ghostly hands wrung together piteously.

“I was _appalled_!” the ghost shouted. He stood up and floated around Edmund and Leander. “I’d promised my brother I would take care of his sons like they were my own. That did _not_ include murdering them in their _sleep!_!” The last word rang into the leaves of the trees, some fluttering down through the air in the ghost’s rage.

“So, I had Buckingham beheaded for treason,” Richard continued, his voice less tremulous. The leaves stopped rustling. The ghostly tears in his eyes remained. “I couldn’t announce that he’d murdered the boys - who would believe me?” he asked rhetorically.

“No one,” Leander replied. And it would have been true. No matter what, the young princes had died in Richard’s care after he’d usurped the throne.

“So, I claim the guilt, even as I didn’t order the deed,” Richard said and his eyes looked mournfully at Leander. Then, like a light going out, the shimmer faded and Richard III was gone.

Edmund looked at the now empty area around the bench. He refused to pinch himself, and wouldn’t ask Leander to do it for him. The night’s activities did leave him feeling gobsmacked.

Had they just _solved_ the unsolvable case after all?

“Let’s get back to the bar, I need a _drink_ ,” Leander said finally, once the shock wore off. Or rather, _lessened_.

Edmund was just sure that this evening was never to be forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

The bar was closed by the time Leander and Edmund got back there from visiting Westminster Abbey. Chaz was still there cleaning up, and wordlessly Edmund took the mop from the bucket and began mopping to keep himself busy and to help his mind digest the evening’s discovery.

“You guys are done already?” Chaz asked them curiously. His eyes followed Leander to the small fridge behind the bar.

“Surprisingly - yes,” Leander replied, popping the seal off the bottle and tipping it back. He grimaced at the coldness of his beverage before draining it. Tonight’s activities had given him an appetite that he doubted would be quenched by a mere bottle - warmed or not.

“You find the dude that did the deed?” Chaz asked and took a last swipe on the table he was cleaning. He tucked the cloth half out of his apron’s front pocket.

“More or less, I would say.” Leander tossed the now empty amber bottle into the recycle trash. “Ed’s earned his P.I. rep tonight,” Le added with a chuckle.

“So, I’m out of a job - _again_?” Chaz frowned. He actually liked working at the bar. He preferred doing his carpentry work, but when a job took longer than three weeks and he had to explain to a client that he had to have a week off without a good reason, they typically bailed and took on the next contractor on their list.

“Oh, no!” Leander exclaimed and a grin passed over his face. “You’ve got the office to fix up next door for Ed, and… I may be joining Ed on some of his cases when needed.”

“Really?” Ed looked up from his mop job in surprise.

“Yeah, I think I’ve found my other niche in the world,” Leander replied. “That means - Charles Ives - that I’m _formally_ offering you the job of manager of the bar. Frees me up, y’know, when I have _other_ things I want to do.”

Chaz’s jaw dropped slightly. It wasn’t his dream job by any stretch of imagination, but it was something he hadn’t had since getting bit by a werewolf back home in Florida. He’d thought moving to England would have given him a fresh start, but it hadn’t. But _now_ he was faced with the healthy prospect of a steady income.

“Oh yeah!” Chaz grinned, “I mean, umm, yes. I’d be happy to take your job offer. As long as there’s someone to cover for one week a month,” he reminded Le and held out his hand.

“Done,” Leander said and shook Chaz’s hand heartily.

“So,” Edmund paused his mopping to look up at the others. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Well,” Leander’s jubilant expression faded a bit as he faced his mortal nephew, “I just, well, _assumed_ that -” He chuffed and his brow rose a little, “Well, we made a good team and that -” He sighed and looked back at Chaz. “Well, I can’t rescind my offer to Charles here -” He looked back at Edmund and gave a hopeful look that looked very odd upon a pale as death vampire. “We made a good team,” he finished wistfully.

“We _do_ make a great team. But I can barely afford Makendra’s personal assistant’s pay, how am I going to afford your expertise?” Edmund shrugged his shoulders.

Leander’s jaw moved as if to say something, then it closed silently. He tried to say something again - his hand raised, and it fell back to his side. He was stumped. “It’s not like I need any more money, I’m doing it for the fun.”

“Hardly seems fair,” Ed replied.

“Alright, I’ll take a pound an hour, to be paid only if we successfully solve the case,” Leander offered.

“With you joining me - how’s the name Wallace and Cross, Detectives for Hire -”

“How about Cross and Wallace?”

“How about the _Dead of Night_ Detective Agency, and skip trying to one-up each other?” Chaz broke in with a shrug of his shoulder.

Le looked at Ed. Edmund looked at Leander. Both offered their right hands.

“Deal,” they said in unison. They shook hands briskly.

_**One Month Later** _

“It’s coming along nicely,” Leander commented in one of their late night sessions in the office next door to the bar. He’d brought over a set of swords to hang crossed on one of the walls. Sharp and deadly, they were a memory of the past he could never forget.

“Mak’s taking up a lot of space for being _just_ the personal assistant,” Ed said and looked over to where they’d given Mak a spot for her own desk and some corkboards. It looked like she’d move every cork board from the basement at home. She had made her niche into her own little design studio. Ed had to admit, she was pretty damn good at making clothing pop off her paper.

“We did have to accede to her demands: lesser pay, more room for her to work in while she was between classes at design school,” Leander reminded his nephew. It had felt like a win-win situation to Leander, though he e just hadn’t informed Ed that he was paying extra to Mak under the table so she didn’t become one of those starving artists that Leander had read about.

“Just as long as she doesn’t bring in those crazy mannequins to dress them in,” Ed groused out, yet smiled all the same. He was secretly really proud of his sister, even if he liked to tease her endlessly.

“Chaz set up the back area with the finished case file, if you want to do the honors,” Leander said and picked up a full binder.

The binder contained everything that had been collected for the Princes in the Tower case. Leander had written down in the ornate cursive from his era that was so Sir Leander Cross, Knight Bachelor, including the testimony of the ghost of Richard III. Leanderstill had an unsettled feeling that they had missed something. 

If Richard hadn’t given Buckingham the order, had someone else stepped in?

“Sure do!” Edmund replied and took the binder from his uncle. He hadn’t expected to have actually solved the case, but they had. He took a few steps back to where a line of file cabinets stood. He hoped to one day have them full to bursting and having to buy additional ones.

For now though, filing the first case into the _Solved_ cabinet was a mighty fine accomplishment.

“You think we’ll ever be able to publicize our findings?” Ed turned to look at Leander.

“I don’t think we can in the mortal world. Not many believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves or witches.” Leander replied and Ed let out a sigh.

“Besides...” Leander shook his head. He’d let Edmund bask in the glory for a while longer.

“What?”

“Nothing, just wondering when the next case will roll in,” Leander fabricated with a quick rub of his hands before clapping them together.

“We’ll be ready when it does,” Edmund said with a sigh of relief. They’d hung the sign over the door _Dead of Night Detective Agency_. Mak had carefully lettered their names on the window. She’d even added hers (which he hadn’t approved) and snuck in her title as _Junior Detective-in-Training_ beneath it.

Ed knew he was going to catch bloody hell from their parents when they saw it. He’d just shrug his shoulders when they asked for explanation and remind him - that they raised all of their kids to do their best and dream big.

Suddenly the door opened and Makendra breezed in in a whirl of a skirt of her own creation, holding a bag of Chinese take-out (Edmund breathed in the spicy-sweet aroma of General Tsao’s) and a tattered envelope.

“Chaz said someone dropped this off in the bar and ran off before he could stop him,” Makendra said and placed the bag on _her_ desk. Ed made a grab for it and she swatted his hand.

“Letter first!” Mak commanded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Right, right,” Edmund leaned to take the letter, but Leander got it first.

“You eat, I’ll read,” Leander reached for an ornate pearl-handled gold letter opener that once belonged to his mother and slit it open with a crisp _rip_ sound. He waited for the mortals to get their plates together.

“Chop! Chop!” Leander said with a chuckle and waited for them to take their first bite.

Le had to admit the smell of their food was delicious, even as his own need or want of it had faded the night he was reborn. He had missed food, and as a fledgling vampire on a rampage with the others had come across a colonist family with wonderful smelling stew simmering over their fire. His newly-heightened vampiric senses allowed him to identify each herb or spice put into the stew. It had also contained his favorite meat- venison. 

Once they were all finished dining on the household, he’d decided to sample the stew. It had been _so_ long, and the aroma had reminded him of his mother’s own recipe.

Leander never thought he’d ever been so sick. He’d wrenched for hours until his stomach and bowels were empty of everything. He swore off trying mortal food ever again. Other vampires had told him it was okay, for propriety’s sake, to eat small portions without getting sick.

Mortal food just wasn’t worth it to Leander.

“Come on, Le,” Edmund called out and broke Le out of his musings.

“Yeah,” Le said and pulled out a faded and stained piece of parchment that had been folded in three. He unfolded it and began to read silently.

“Out loud!” Mak tapped her plastic fork against the paper container of beef and roasted vegetables.

“Right… _Dear Mr Wallace, I noticed that you were opening shop next door to my favorite bar. I’ve seen you hanging around with the owner, a_ very _pale man. My family has a pressing emergency that only your office can handle…_ ” Leander paused and looked up at the siblings.

“You think whoever wrote this knows what I am?” Leander asked them. Not that he was _worried_ persay, he just liked being under the cloak of anonymity as he was.

“I don’t know,” Mak replied with furrowed brows.

“Read on, Le. Maybe he says more,” Edmund said and leaned a bit forward in his seat. He still shoveled his food into his mouth with his chopsticks. He was _hungry_ after the long day of moving furniture to Mak’s liking into _his_ office.

“ _My son and his friend have disappeared while on a camping trip. The police have exhausted every avenue, and have closed the case. I know you can help me…_ ”

“We got one!” Mak dropped her fork into her container and did a fist pump.

“Le?” Ed said after studying Leander’s pale and confused face.

“This was written 100 years ago.” Le announced in disbelief. Or was it shock?

_cue ending credit music_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter was beta'd by Professor McGonagall of HPFT.


End file.
